Trust
by Itar94
Summary: COMPLETE [AU of season 3 episode 1-2.] "The battle has raged for hours ... "Arrest him!" cries the king. - "...Arthur, I'm so sorry." Merlin's knees give away and he falls, the sword slipping from his hand."
1. Chapter 1

**Trust****  
**_a Merlin fanfiction_  
_by Elfling_

_Summary__: _Merlin is unsure if he's feeling regret. The battle has raged for hours… "Arrest him!" cries the king._  
__Rating__: T  
__Warnings__: angst, some violence; AU/what if-story  
__Characters__: Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, Uther, Guinevere/Gwen, Gaius__  
Pairings__: Friendship? Romance? Nothing is intended as romance, but there are Merthur and Mergana elements if you take it that way.  
__Spoilers__: Basically up to season 3 episode 1-2.  
__Disclaimer__: 'Merlin' is property of BBC and I make no claims, profits or money by doing this. I've written this as a work of fan-fiction, to be read freely for entertainment. By writing this I don't gain anything, but the pleasure to write. When I'm finished I'll return all the characters safe and sound…Um, wait a minute, maybe not all of them.  
__Author's note__: My first Merlin story - at least my first published Merlin story. I'd like to have some critisism, good or bad, constructive please. I'm still looking for a beta, so please do tell if you want to beta! Thanks. And enjoy please. This story is almost complete, written in 3 chapters. It began as a oneshot/one-chapter story, but as it turns out, it's hard to stop, isn't it?__  
__Word count__: 4873 (I-X)  
Beta: Imperial Mint [reupload of chapter 29/10/10]_

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I.

It's dark. The kind of darkness you wish to take shelter from, to crawl under your blanket while you sleep. Merlin shudders, tries to shy away from it but to no avail. It is no better by the fact that dozens of creatures, dark and hard to make out in the foggy gloom, are sneaking up on him, disturbing the leaf-covered ground. Their scent warns him as does his sense for magic; whatever they were, they're dangerous and magical, and it makes him uneasy. He shifts, looks around. What was that? A sound?

Nothing.

A rustle. The aching of his shoulders. Every little thing he became aware of, itches against his skin, ants moving through the leaves, an owl howling in the distance; they all mocked him and his vulnerability.

_Silence._

Nothing he's done has worked so far. The chains trap him and he cannot move. No words he says release him, magic cannot free him, only traps him harder; so he waits, tries to figure out how to get out of this mess and get back to Camelot. He must warn them!

_Morgana. Morgause. They plotted against Uther, poisoned his dreams, and made him delusional. Rumour spread that the king was going mad. They had allied with Cenred, a king, and his army. Marching towards Camelot. Uther. Arthur._

_Arthur._

Merlin needs to warn Arthur. The stupid prat is going himself killed. But how? He's trapped. _Think, think._

In his head he can just imagine Arthur smirking at him – _'It's really not one of your redeemable features, _Mer_lin.'_

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II.

The sky is boiling, the clouds heavy as if thunder soon will strike, once for each sword clashing against another. The cobble stones of the street are being painted with red, red as the knights' cloaks, scarlet and bleeding, something they'd rather turn their eyes away from but cannot - not in this chaos. Smells of death and blood and sweat make their eyes hard and armours slowing them down. Contrasting against dark gloomy night are a thousand spears and glowing torches.

"Sire!"

A voice in the mist. It takes a while for him to hear it.

"Sire!"

_Two days since Merlin had gone. Disappeared. Vanished. It weights his heart down like a stone, at least for a moment, but the circumstances made him force any such thoughts aside. There is a battle to think of. Defending Camelot. In his ill father's place. Where his idiot manservant had gone matters very little._

"Sire!"

He swirls around, something brushes against his cheek and almost knocks him over; but he beats the odds, regains balance, parries a blow, keeps glancing off towards the left for Sir Kay and Sir Leon, to see if they were yet alive in this mess.

"What?" he demands, once he get a bit away from the front lines, where a knight is waiting for him, face flushed as if he'd just been running a race.

"Your father, sire, he's gone from his chambers. We cannot find him, nor his armour and sword."

He doesn't roll his eyes or mutter or give a sarcastic remark, just gives the knight a serious gaze, fists clenching and unclenching. _Gone! Where could he have gone in this chaos? He's going to get himself killed!_

"Begin a proper search, but I want the men concentrating on our defences." _Cannot let them take Camelot._

"Yes, sire."

And the knight's gone into the murky masses, cloak swirling behind him, and Arthur doesn't want to linger on the word – _gone_ – so he turns back to the advancing enemy. They are like hordes of madmen, streaming on, endlessly. Shouting, barking, like dogs; each time one falls two came to take its place; there is no control. Arthur doesn't like the loss of control. Being outnumbered. It was a weakness, and he hates weaknesses, when they were obvious, shown, taken advantage of. And his father's escape – he must have escaped, both his chambers and Gaius' sleeping draughts – worries him more, for Uther's dead body is nothing he wants to see, but the old fool would get himself in trouble in the state he is in.

_Camelot is being tainted by a thousand bloodied swords._

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III.

The pain is unexpected. Sudden. He gasps and twists, feeling sick and overcome; at first he doesn't understand where or what it comes from.

His senses begin to blur, and he realizes that there's nowhere to go, he's still chained and unable to move. He shouts, eyes glowing beautifully golden, and the creatures are hurled backwards into the thick trees with loud, piercing shrieks. However, it doesn't stop them for long. They are many more now than a minute before and all determined upon killing him. They crawl back, but he cannot see them any clearer when they're closer, it's so dark.

Merlin looks at the sky, at the dark canopies above him, and cannot see very far. It's blurry. It hurts. He cannot see any stars.

He hasn't thought that this was how he would die.

So terribly alone. When he's been so close. So close! Close at revealing Morgana and her plot. Or was that it? Maybe close at helping Arthur. Changing him into a better man, someone who'd one day make a king. Not a pratty prince. Friend. An idiot one, at that.

Merlin would have laughed hysterically or maybe cried, if it wasn't for the pain. The laugh twists into a shout, for aid, for _anything,_ and in his pain he cannot remember what words his lips forms or if his eyes are blue or golden. It matters very little. The world is turning darker. Misty and blue, a bit like Arthur's eyes and the young warlock suddenly scowls; how can he think of Arthur right now? The prat. The stupid, stupid prat who couldn't dress himself or find his own socks or protect himself from _anything_ but maybe deer and rabbits or maybe not even them. Useless. No, his mind protests, he's no useless, he's good…a good man, when it comes to it. Could help out of good will, at times, not just because of duty.

Only vaguely could he recall the last time he'd called Arthur a prat. A few days ago? A week? God, he should have called him a prat again and whacked him over the head. Like a kind of good-bye. A memory.

Told him about his magic. Then it wouldn't have mattered if he was going to be executed, he feels like he's dying now anyway. Fading away. But he doubts, a little, that Arthur would really let hum burn at the stake.

Told him his secrets. One by one. Stripping himself down to the bone. Because he meant so much ... and maybe, didn't realize it, not the right way, not the way Merlin thought of him. Of his heart.

_Because I believe in your destiny, _Merlin thinks, before he closes his eyes, barely aware of the fire or hot wind ghosting over his face, making the leaves tickle his skin right above the collar.

_You'll be a great king, Arthur._

_One day._

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IV.

"Father!"

Uther struggles against his son and sir Leon, who grasps his upper arms to steady his wobbly steps. "No! This is my fight, my battle." Arthur doesn't know why. "Let go, Arthur. Let go!"

"You're in no condition to fight." Arthur nearly shouts into his face and despite the adrenaline and blood it's only his own willpower that makes him keep composed. He couldn't show panic, or uncontrolled anger or annoyance, he needed to stay composed and in charge. "Take him back to the hospital," he tells Sir Leon, and the knight nods briefly before shouting to someone to aid him, begins – forcibly – walking towards the citadel, Uther still struggling, but also fevered and weakened. The knight guides him behind shadowed walls, outside which the battle will rage on for many hours on end.

Arthur briefly allows himself to pause and breathe, resting his head in his hands, filled still with all kinds of thoughts, uncertainties, and _where the hell is Merlin?_

_They still don't know what is causing Uther's madness, illness, whatever it can be called. None of Gaius' remedies helps other than making him go back sleep, troubled. None of Morgana's soft consolations soothes his soul. He burns. His mind... Nothing. Arthur feels hopeless and he hates it, it's like watching his father dying by falling into pieces, so easily. It's…frightening._

Then he is back in the battle and forgets everything else.

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V.

'…_Merlin.'_

'_Merlin!'_

His head pounds. Cautiously he tries to raise his hands, his arms, but they are heavy and dull. It is hard to move. Each and every bone in his body aches. Blood rushes through his veins loudly, his heart his sore, like a drum in his chest. Chilly winds wrap around him like a cloak, and he shivers, and only that makes it possible for him to open his eyes.

The moonlight falling onto him, tranquil and pale, is sharp as sunlight.

But a large, dark silhouette somehow dampens the light. Moves to stand in its way. Merlin blinks, unsure what to think or do, and by god, it still hurts and he barely can speak, his tongue feels thick and swollen.

"…you? Here?" he murmurs, at last, meeting the large yellow eyes.

"You are awake, young warlock," the beast observes, and for once, Merlin feels extremely grateful that the dragon is there.

The fire. The smoke. The heat. It must've been Kilgharrah. _I called…_ But he has no remembrance of doing so. Never - during the one year since Arthur had _dealt it a mortal blow - _has Merlin used his power as a Dragonlord. He doesn't need it. He doesn't want to face the beast that he wants to trust but is unsure if he can. Conflicted with pain and emotions, he stares up at it, blinks again. The dragon's gaze is unwavering and sharp.

"You need to rest," says the beast. "You were wounded by the serket, and its poison is strong. I placed an enchantment on you to quicken the healing of your wound."

"…You came," are the next two words he manages to say, loud enough to be heard.

"Not even I could resist the call of a Dragonlord."

_Thank you,_ his mind whispers, but he dares not say it out loud, it might give the dragon the idea that he was free to go, but Merlin realizes that Kilgharrah is the one reason he is alive right now had he'd rather stay breathing. Alive. _Arthur._ But he cannot move. He cannot walk. Cannot rise. _Camelot!_ his mind screams, so suddenly that he jerks awake from the half-sleep he had begun drifting into. _Arthur!_

"Camelot…Morgana and Morgause are going to…" Struggling to sit. Can't, too weak – so he falls back with a sigh, briefly closing his eyes. "The kingdom is in danger … Arthur's in danger. And it's my fault!" He's in anguish but cannot hit or throw anything, his body sore and slow and heavy, but his eyes flash and it feels like something inside of him breaks. _My fault._

It is hard to read the face of a dragon, even if he has faced it so many times and tried to understand its riddles. "The city is already being assaulted by king Cenred's army. He has allied with Morgause and the witch."

Panic. It is harder to breathe, not only because of the pain.

_Arthur._

"I need to go back to Camelot."

"You are yet very weak, warlock," Kilgharrah says and the strong voice echoes through the forest, vibrating in its chest and causing the ground to feel uncertain. The moonlight and free crisp air makes the beast look smaller than it seemed when chained beneath the castle, confined within a cave. Now it had freedom, and Merlin, briefly, again, thought back of when he released it and caused so much destruction and death. Because of him. So many had suffered.

It had to change. Somehow.

"I…I'll be fine," Merlin grunts and now manages to sit, but using both his arms, tense and trembling, to hold himself up. On the verge of collapsing, his whole body protests, warns him, but he chooses to ignore it all.

"Your courage and determination is admirable," and now there's definitely amusement; thought it fades and even if it wasn't concern, Merlin felt it was something akin to it; "But you need to rest and revive your strength. It's a long walk back to the city."

_No questioning about Morgana or Morgause or what he's soon or heard, no riddles either, and it's strange getting used to that. The silence. Maybe even obedience._

Merlin's eyes snaps open and he stares at the beast and the sky. Large and free. Both to his advantage. The sky is open, moonlit and wide, silent like the forest and unguarded. Setting his jaw in resolve, he pushes up to his knees, ignoring the yellow eyes scrutinizing him, staring him down into the ground, for he does not plan on walking. No. Not at all.

_Not when I have the chance of doing this. Changing something. For Camelot._

_For Arthur._

Every inch of his body trembles with pain and magic and emotion that wants to burst out of his chest and create fire, as he make his decision, and he ignores all protests that the dragon voices or mutters in his mind. Ignoring - because it's stupid and foolish, his plan. It'd been foolish to follow Morgana in the first place. Getting caught by Morgause's men and getting tied with chains that his magic couldn't break.

But he needs to get back.

To Arthur.

And quickly.

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VI.

Arthur does not sleep this night. He might have rested a while, but never sleeping, never failing to keep alert. The sword lies across his knees as he waits, for answers and morning. Gaius was within his father's chambers, where Uther slept with fever and horrifying dreams beside him. But Arthur neither sleeps nor dreams. He stares out the dusty window, and plans another counterattack. The need to push away the enemy. A breath of air. Just a short while.

He wants his father. No, _needs _him. Needs him to stay, stay alive, get better, and advise him on what to do. Because Uther was his father and he knew how to handle this situation. How to win this battle! He needed his father. _Camelot _needed his father, a king.

Gaius walks past, shaking his head, no, no improvements; Arthur checks through the window one last time before walking inside the chamber and trying not to have a fit or sob with despair, because it's unbecoming of a prince, especially an adult prince in war, leading thousands of men.

Morgana sits by the bed, all velvet and large, sad eyes, gazing sternly at the king, briefly offering a small smile at Arthur as he enters, still standing. Wearing his armour, dirty and bloodied, tainting the pale room with its presence. The sword – unsheathed and cleaned – resting in his hand, a familiar weight.

Not a word passes between them. Arthur feels this strange worry about Morgana, like she has changed – a year she had been gone before they found her; of course she must have changed. Whether it's for good or ill, he is unsure and it makes him uneasy. He's always been a bit uneasy with Morgana around, with her sharp eyes watching every movement, like a hawk. Every word. Nothing passed her by.

Then she nods at him, and walks away, leaving them both to their own thoughts.

His voice feels rough and he wants to use it, but has no idea what to say. He doesn't move closer, takes his father's hand, because he is dirty by battle and an adult, a man, he shouldn't keep waiting and praying; he should take matters into his own hands. The king sleeps. Looking a bit peaceful, even as his skin gleams sickly.

The battle has been raging since evening.

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VII

.

They are so foolish. All of them. Like puppets. So easy to trick and sneak past and they react too late; earlier she might have worried about it, when she was younger, but now she was glad of the flaws. The guards were drained, red-eyed, trying to find some air in-between the fights. The sky is dark, but the ceiling is in the way for her to see it.

Not a single glance went her way. She does not even need a cloak, no one pays attention anyway.

Down the hallways, above the battle rages on; fire crackles, cries of wounded men. Turns left. The corridors becomes more and more empty, for no one goes here, not even for protection during war; not to a vault of the dead. Dusty, quiet, abandoned.

It's only Morgana, the unmoving bodies, and the staff pulsating with magic in her hand.

* * *

**VIII.**

Despite pain and foggy disappointment, anger, worry, Merlin throws out his arms and shouts with strange joy, his stomach tickles and the air soars by. He's one with the wind, it rushes past his ears so loud he cannot hear his own voice, and he grins widely, for one small moment feeling something else than dread at the thought _Dragonlord._

Camelot is still under attack, but they will reach the city before dawn. He has no real plan, just to intervene, jump in, save Arthur's skin. Arthur_. _Camelot. Uther, too, if he can, because he knows what ails the king, what Morgana and Morgause has done to drive him mad – and Camelot needs a king. Merlin knows, knows too much, and he fears what Morgana might do. She doesn't know his secret. But she knows that he poisoned her. Broke whatever trust they'd had. _Trust._ It's so hard to find.

He saddens when thinking about her.

…"_I thought since she has magic, I thought…we were the same."_

_I trusted her._

"_You did what you thought was right, and that shows great courage."_

Kilgharrah's words, etched into his memory, leave a bitter taste on his tongue.

Trust. He is unsure, now, what it is and to whom it should be given. As a child it had been easy. You and I meet, share a talk or a joke and play, before you know it we're friends, we share everything. But not now, it's not simple anymore. After meeting Arthur. Could he trust Arthur? With his life – yes. Yes. But his secrets? His magic? The emotions that are tearing him apart and make him want to scream?

He is unsure, even if he makes up decisions in his mind and the dragon sounds displeased and tries to argue, but he has his mind set now. He doesn't trust Kilgharrah, not much, because the dragon is so hard to understand, his plots, double-play.

"_Trust is a double-edged sword."_

Arthur is, too, and Merlin doesn't know if he has any shield left to protect himself with.

**

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IX.

The lower town is ablaze, covered with dust, littered with bodies and torches. Smoke saturated with ashes. His eyes sting sharply; he wants to shield them, but cannot – cannot back away, cannot lower his guard.

At some point, Cenred's army raises their bows and let go of a rain of arrows. Cascading onto red-cloaked armoured knights and cobble stone. Most warriors do not react in time. A cry somewhere on his left as someone is hit and felled.

They're fighting a losing battle. But Arthur refuses to break. Let go. He will stand his ground. Not accept defeat.

He will die fighting, he knows already. For Camelot.

Someone slashes a sword right before his nose, he hurls backwards on instinct, a second from being beheaded. The foe ends up incapacitated but he doesn't really register how, unmoving, throat bared.

Everything is such a mess, and no one is there to pick up the pieces.

A tremble rushes through the air and Arthur nearly loses his balance but it's over, a flash of a moment later, like nothing happened, time becomes alive again. He is still fighting, standing atop of a pile, a better viewpoint of disaster. Yet he is quite lucky, without major injuries, no broken bones or bleedings or mortal wounds, mere scratches and bruises in the sea of wrecked bodies. Sore. Tired. Frustrated.

A voice reaches his ear, only faintly. He's almost deaf already, but reacts anyway. He can vaguely recognize the knight's face, wide and open with shock, staring behind Arthur, behind the knights. Arthur spins around, freezing on the spot, sword in defence position.

Bony hands cradles the hilt of a deadly weapon, covered with rust or blood, it's unsure which.

_What on earth-_ the prince manages to think, before he is thrown into combat with a dead man.

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X.

Merlin has to cling desperately, till his knuckles turned white, to the horns in the juncture between the dragon's giant head and its neck. The world is small and rushing by beneath him, blurred by his eyes and the darkness and his headache. Some time when they were leaving the moon behind them, his wound began aching terribly again; it must be the abrupt, jerky movements as the dragon turns. And he feels tired, so extremely tired, exhausted and drained, he wants to sleep and not wake up for a lifetime.

But he can't. Can't close his eyes. It's too dangerous. Can't fall. Holding on stiffly, knees pressed against the sides of Kilgharrah's neck, he tries to keep the balance. He has to stay conscious, to save the pratty idiotic prince from Cenred and Morgana and Morgause and mainly _himself _and his _stupid, stupid_ ways to do things.

Suddenly it matters little or maybe not at all if he reveals his magic. Himself – there, to Arthur, because he wants to, it's his destiny, he wants to just let it go, say it, _show it _so very much, it hurt.

Wants and hopes that Arthur will – if not _understand _– then accept, that he kept it hidden, why he did it, why he had to reveal it now. Hopes that Arthur will not let him die. Give him to Uther. Burning at the stake.

_Please._

The sky cringes as Kilgharrah cleaves the air.

He can, when lifting heavy eyelids, see Camelot glowing against the horizon, silent and weathered, smoke rising from its tines and towers.

"Please."

The dragon's voice echoes in his head, like it hears his whisper, but Merlin knows that of course Kilgharrah hasn't.

'_Do you truly wish this, warlock?'_ Questioning. Merlin doesn't answer. It hurts. "There will be consequences, some you may not be able to work against. I did not foresee this."

'_I can deal with it.'_

It hurts because it feels like he is betraying Arthur and he is going to do it again and again, losing him bit by bit when at last they were able to call each other _Friend _when no one else was around. And he is going to lose that now, betraying Arthur's trust once and for all - he is going to see Merlin's lies. And Gwen too, she was going to be so shocked and maybe even scared of him and Gaius, Gaius, he'd chop his head off. He was betraying Uther too, but the thought does not hurt as much.

He doesn't want Arthur to hate him.

He's afraid of the day when Arthur's going to hate him.

A shudder suddenly wrenches through his body and he gasps and almost falls off the dragon's back, as Kilgharrah too feels the strong tug of magic. Merlin accidentally bumps his head against the dragon's neck. His mind pounds. There is pain; he cannot remember feeling this bad ever before, it was the poison as well as the aching in his heart and this strange, sudden worry.

The world spins.

'_The witch has made her first move,'_ says the dragon, half-unnecessary, because in his heart Merlin already knows.

"We have to stop her!" he cries, both in thought and out loud.

Was it surprise? Amusement? He cannot tell_. 'We?'_

_Yes. You're with me now whether you like it or not._

"I need your help, Kilgharrah."

Merlin cast a glance at the sky and at the burning city in the distance before he closes his eyes._ I don't betray you, Arthur, please, understand. I do this for you, because I have faith in you. Camelot needs to stay alive._

The words ring heavily through his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Trust****  
**_a Merlin fanfiction_  
_by Elfling_

_Disclaimer__: 'Merlin' is property of BBC and I make no claims, profits or money by doing this. I've written this as a work of fan-fiction, to be read freely for entertainment. By writing this I don't gain anything, but the pleasure to write.  
__Author's note__: God, I never thought this'd be so well received! I was ecstatic to find my email filled with -messages. Thank you all who have added my story to their favourites/alert list, and thank you all reviewers!  
I apologize for any errors, typos or grammatical mistakes; they all belong to me. As this is written in my second language, I'm still looking for a beta. If you're interested to beta, please let me know! I'd be very, very grateful.  
If you've reviewed while signed in, you should have received a reply with a PM as I upload this.  
__Word count__: 4417 (XI-XX)  
Beta: Imperial Mint_

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XI.

Light is sporadic and yellow if it is there at all. Arthur has some control of his men, as the enemy and his own are slaughtered blindly to the left and the right, decorating the street with their heads. At least he's had control up till now. The moon is far away and gives no comfort, only a haunting chill, no light, just a spot on the sky.

The dead arrive shortly after he's managed to get his father into safety.

Arthur struggles to remain composed and sane and not just act on his anger, because if he does that he will let down his guard, and he cannot let that happen. He has to stay guarded. Alert. Strong.

None can die twice.

Arthur's face is twisted in utter rage and frustration, every fibre of his being screams _Magic!_ in protest, and _Die, damn it!_ as the naked skeletons stand their ground with leering empty faces and he curses again as one of his knight falls, arrow through armour.

"Leon! Kay!" Their attention is troublesome to gain; they are busy with their own foes. "You must warn Gaius - seal off and protect the hospital! NOW!"

His voice is raw and firm and the two knights scurries off, and Arthur cannot afford to have a single thought now of Merlin or Morgana or _anyone_**.**

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XII.

Merlin opens his eyes as Cenred's army stretches out before and beneath the beast he's riding upon, and the sight of the moving mass like mad ants glowing with a hundred torches and the sharp clangs of swords, makes adrenaline pump in his veins. Sleep is pushed away. At once he is wide awake, staring, feeling a lump form in his throat – and he grows a little afraid.

But it's too late to turn back now. They are spotted.

Kilgharrah still obeys him. The flight feels suddenly much slower and clumsier, and Merlin wishes he had some kind of physical weapon, shield, anything to protect himself with, other than his magic. To hold something in his hands would make him feel more confident.

"Ready?" he asks, like trying to wake himself up. He is receiving no reply. The dragon just heads down, Merlin has to hold on and hold his breath not to fall, and he tries to brace himself and one last time, before the dragon opens its jaws, he calls himself stupid.

Arrows darts their way, some glowing yellow; but nothing can hinder the dragon, born out of magic, all too powerful for them. Cenred's soldiers, somewhere in the middle between the edge and the city, are engulfed with fire and Merlin tries to look away, tries not to feel any remorse but it is hard because he doesn't like killing.

Magic reaches out and grasps him, and he takes hold of it too, as it is so tempting and so near and this might be the last time he fight for Camelot, for Arthur, sees the place that has become his home – _I might have to flee._

_I have to do this._

But…

_I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm so sorry._

Kilgharrah descends, loud and dangerous and roaring; troops scatter and Merlin's hands are white, tightly fisted; he feels a kind of satisfaction when the enemy runs away and gives the red-cloaked knights a chance to fight back. It's clear they're outnumbered; he sees more dark-armoured bodies moving than red-cloaked ones.

Only the magic pulsating with his rapid heartbeat keeps the fear and pain and hesitation at bay. His eyes are golden, and the fire spreads further, but not harming the knights if he can help it.

He feels how Kilgharrah struggles against him, turning left to go follow a large group of hunted dark-armoured men but Merlin's eyes widen, and he shouts _"No! No! Let them flee!"_ both with voice and mind - because it's not them but Morgause and Morgana who are the targets. The soldiers are mere puppets in this game. And reluctantly, the dragon has to do as he says, swirling back; and now riding a dragon no longer makes him feel excited, merely dreadful.

They charge downwards and the young warlock used his magic to guide them. Making the enemies shatter. Somewhere behind the walls he spots pale, ghostly figures and gasps, as he realizes that they are skeletons walking with swords in their hands, advancing on the knights.

He has no time to linger on what will or might happen later, now he just has to end this battle.

**

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XIII.

Morgana stays in the dusty chamber alone and watches as the staff continues to glow, and she feels magic fill her and she smiles, thrilled. Morgause is going to be so proud.

**

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XIV.

Arthur hears before he sees it.

Shouts. Right next to his ears. Next follows confusion and some panic and it makes him look up, at the sky, where dawn is breaking, and what he sees makes his blood go icy.

… _It's supposed to be dead!_

A large, dangerous silhouette hovering above leaves no doubts. _What devilry is this?_

They cannot fight on two fronts, less of all_ three_.

But then the dragon dives and fire overwhelm their enemies, right beyond the wall; for a moment Arthur stares in shock and the world seemed to stop and contradict, before he managed to move forward. Meeting a sword with his own; parrying a downward slash. The dead are yet there, fighting, unable to die, but the soldiers of flesh and blood scatter.

The creature doesn't appear to see him or the knights, it doesn't charge towards them and that split second he realizes that, Arthur feels a silly kind of hope and wonders if someone had sent a guardian angel the last moment, riding that beast against their adversaries, but that's silly and childish. There's only one kind of person that can control a dragon or defeat it …

But he is more than sure that Balinor is long since gone.

He calls for someone to distract the group of dead, while he leaves to find the dragon, but it seems to have circled in and out of the city. He cannot determine where it is. For some reason, it has vanished from the sky. Frowning, Arthur crosses a street, which is covered with arrows. Has it landed? Where? Why?

_And why is it__**here**__?_

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**

XV.

He can sense it, the spell, lurking in the shadows of the stone. He's drawn to it and his feet knows where to go, even if he's sick and dizzy and in pain, which returns with full force the moment he manages to slide off Kilgharrah's back, exhausted. The look the dragon sends him might have even held compassion.

"Stay near," Merlin orders, hoping it can do so; "Don't kill any knights."

_Don't dare kill Uther if he comes, and don't harm Arthur, _he silently thinks and Kilgharrah understands only by meeting his gaze – about obedience, Merlin can only hope. _Don't dare._

Merlin steps away and wobbles feverishly towards the castle, in the edge of his vision seeing the beast lift off and melt into the sky. So much for a little bit of trust. He cannot linger on it. There's no time. He has to go. _Hurry._ His feet carries him, he runs but cannot feel the ground or the fire or any eyes upon him.

**

* * *

**

XVI.

Arthur dashes back to the castle like a madman. There might be shouting on his heels but he does not stop, not till he reaches the end of the large courtyard, now glowing with enemy fire and chaos and people rushing back and forth, and in the middle of it all is the beast, large and dangerous. People scream and run away.

A shadowed figure limps off its back, as it lowers its neck towards the ground, and the person only stays still for a moment before rushing off. Arthur is puzzled but not nervous or afraid - at least he doesn't acknowledge any nervousness - as he approaches the dragon.

It sets its eyes on him and goddamnit, he could swear its mouth quirked into a smirk, yellow eyes twinkling. Then it lifts from the ground, leaving Arthur scowling, before he sets off in search for the mysterious figure that's disappeared into the citadel's halls.

_The fires in Camelot continue to rage, and dawn threads up the skies._

**

* * *

**

XVII.

She is satisfied, but alone and unprepared to be attacked, half-lost in happy thoughts and dreaming of freedom. Thus she is surprised to hear footsteps raging down the hall and she is slammed back into reality as she realizes that the footsteps are too heavy and too quick to belong to the army she sent. This is no dead man.

This one is very much alive.

"Morgana," Merlin breathes, in a rush, like flabbergasted even if he had expected to see her here.

"Merlin?" Incredulously. Pale eyes wide. However she quickly regains her composure. "How on earth could you've escaped? You're just a servant boy." Something inside of her begins to rage. Were her kin so weak if such a petty boy could break those chains? How's that possible?

"Morgana, please, don't do this," he begs and ignores her questions and tries not to give into the pain and sleep. "Innocent people will die. Women and children. They'll die! Stop, _please. Camelot will fall._"

"Good."

His heart breaks at hearing those words, such malice. A sob is in his throat but he cannot cry. "No…you can't mean that…!"

He moves closer – each step painful as his body protests – the lady raises her sword in defence but he doesn't back down. A wooden staff buried in the stone floor behind her, in the maze of sarcophaguses, glows, and his eyes widen at seeing it. It's so near and the magic surrounding it feels like it's slowing him down and making his movements slack.

Morgana has changed, and it upsets him. He has had this tiny hope that she could see reason,_ understand_, just listen for a while, but she was beyond reason now. She was Morgause's puppet, blinded by the need to kill the king, blinded by her magic and Morgause and the thought of Uther's death.

"Step back!"

"If…If I had your magic…I'd use it for good things. Not this! You if anyone can make Uther see…see that magic can be used for good too! But this will only harden his heart. Morgana, please, _it doesn't have to be this way_!" His voice cracks up as he has to lie again, but he has to lie now, to her, for the better of Camelot.

_He should be better at lying. But he's never been good at it. He doesn't like to lie._

"**You don't have magic, Merlin**!" she spits, the words stab him; "You don't understand!"

And his hearts pleads,_ please, Morgana, I do, I understand. Stop! Please. _It takes all his willpower to stand firm, look at her and speak, but his eyes feels glassy and hands shaky_._ "I understand."

Slowly, in doubt, she shakes her head and put up a stance, sword glinting, and Merlin steps back just in time to not be sliced in two.

"No. There is no other way."

Weapon! He needs it. In his hands. He has none, grasps aimlessly and moves away from the woman. His hands are empty, and breath quickens in his chest. He doesn't want to reveal this to Morgana, not to _her, _but now it was too late anyway, because he's revealed himself to Camelot and Kilgharrah is waiting outside and if he has to stop her, _if it has to be this way – _then so be it.

She looks so shocked. Maybe a little frightened. Merlin's eyes are golden, and the ground trembles. A section of the ceiling falls down. She reacts but not quickly enough, distracted. Dust swirls up and makes their eyes water. It happens so quickly. Merlin forces the sword out of her hands, before she stumbles back and hits her head, dark hair spilling over the floor. Then he leaps over her and the dust and, eyes still glowing, he screams in his native tongue and lets the blade slice through the staff like it'd been a fragile piece of paper.

In a split second the world is filled with stars and sound and lightning.

Dazed, the warlock falls. Back onto the floor, sword slipping from his fingers and with tears shining in his eyes. Every inch of his body and heart aches. Somewhere in his mind, he wonders what will happen to him, if he is found like this and if Arthur will realize the truth and if Uther will have him burned or beheaded.

_Arthur, I'm sorry._

**

* * *

**

XVIII.

Arthur falls as the ground suddenly growls. He is harshly slammed into a wall. Armour heavy and clanking. Down here in this corridor there is little light and no people, everyone avoids going down here. There is no foe or friend in sight, not even any of the dead, which he doesn't know if it's soothing or not.

He manages to crawl back to his feet and regain his sword, then he takes off again, running. The shadowed figure he'd seen, it has disappeared from view, but it has to be down here with no place else to go.

A voice echoes to him from the open large doors ahead. It's loud, and somehow familiar, but cannot place it. Arthur blinks, just as he reaches the doorway. Rows of tombs fill the room, dusty and unappreciated and half-forgotten, but now they are broken, and in the middle there's a mess of stone, he can peek a slouched form with dark long hair spilling over its shoulders.

A flash of light.

And in the centre, there is_ Merlin _stumbling back and hitting the ground and a sword falls from the manservant's hands. The boy's eyes are beautifully golden and glinting with energy.

The prince's voice returns to him a second later.

"Merlin!" _You idiot!_

No response and no stirring, the boy just lies there. Staring at the ceiling oddly, as his eyes return to blue, before closing, and his body shudders. There is blood on his clothes and dust on his face and he's deadly pale - and all Arthur can understand is that _Merlin is a sorcerer._

He can put together the pieces now, all small lucky times when the boy had suddenly appeared and disappeared, little signs and sadness in his eyes and the firmness whenever magic is mentioned. This and that and everything. Small strokes of luck. Everything, in short, weird clarity, makes sense. It's frightening. It's _wrong._

_Merlin is a sorcerer._

"Merlin!" He drops on his knees beside the boy – servant? Sorcerer? Traitor? Friend? – thinking_ No, please Merlin, god, how can _**you**_of all people -? For how long have you been lying to me?_

Reality hits him hard. The revelation. Unintentional? He cannot know.

_Merlin is a sorcerer._

…"_You can trust me, Arthur."_

"_I trust in your destiny."_

It hurts him to know that every word have been like air, like Merlin has said them briefly and the confidence had meant nothing. Arthur remembers each one of them, though now he wishes he hadn't; wishes that he hadn't even met this stupid idiot, _sorcerer, sorcerer, Merlin._

"Merlin?" he says shakily and hits the boy's face, just to gain a reaction_, anything_ – anything – and he still doesn't want to accept it. Merlin. Can't. Be. A. Sorcerer.

It's illogical. Improbable. Wrong. Unfair. _I trusted you. You saved my life and I saved yours and I trusted you!_

He's so conflicted because he has grown closer to Merlin, his servant, than he should, feels worried about him and his presence makes him calmer and happier and sometimes annoyed, but the boy stirs up emotion and _god,_ he cannot imagine Merlin being _executed._

A croaky whisper reaches his ear. "A'thur?"

"You stupid, bloody **idiot**, Merlin."

A smile. "My talent, I guess."

The prince glares at him, Merlin coughs. Suddenly the prince grows firm. Cold. Merlin senses it and tries too to distance himself, pushing away, but slightly hesitating and maybe afraid of the change of Arthur's demeanour.

"How- how did you find me?" the boy asks quietly.

"Followed you."

_I saw you, nitwit._

"…Oh."

"That's all you have to come with? No blabbering excuses? No half-witty retorts? No trying to be funny?"

Merlin averts his gaze, glancing at Morgana and then the broken staff before looking back at Arthur. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

The words unsettle him and take him by surprise, he hasn't expected an apology. A sigh heaves his chest. Reluctantly, he latches a hand around Merlin's upper arm – it feels thin and weak – and pulls. "Get up."

There's no doubt that Merlin somehow understands. "…what are you going to do with me?"

"You're the one who has to answer my questions now. Where _the hell_ have you been?"

A weak grin tugs at Merlin's lips. He's still weak and feverish and obviously in pain, it takes a while to get him on his feet. "Been trying to save your royal backside."

"Honestly, Merlin." He's displeased and angry and betrayed. There's no banter in his tone.

The smile fades. It's replaced with a frown. "I followed Morgana…into the forest. Morgause was there. Met up. They talked...but knew I was there. I couldn't… couldn't let them know…tried to run. Was caught."

"And?" Arthur presses, wondering where the dragon came into the picture. _Morgana? Why would she…Oh. _Oh. _I can't believe it!_

"…then they left," the boy says, leaving out a big portion of the story because he doesn't want to talk about it, being alone and in pain and maybe dying, out there; "I waited, managed to call for Kilgharrah's help."

Kilgharrah. It must be the dragon.

_But…how? Why? Why would it come to help Merlin? Even if he's a sorcerer, he doesn't-_

Arthur's eyes grows wide and he stares at the boy he is firmly holding in an iron grasp, whose barely able to stand and whose goofy grin is gone, eyes betraying confusion and uncertainty and fear.

Merlin sees it and murmurs, "…Balinor was my father."

**

* * *

**

XIX.

He can't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He doesn't struggle as Arthur begins dragging him out of there.

He speaks. Quietly and stumblingly, but he speaks, about Ealdor and his father and his gift. Like trying to explain.

The prince doesn't speak. Nor does he seem to be listening. Maybe he is but suddenly it's like he doesn't care, he grabs Merlin's arm and pulls him towards the entrance. It's frightening, yet Merlin is much calmer than he'd expected himself to be – Merlin has tried to imagine what it would be like once he revealed it and each daydream or nightmare usually ended up with a lot of screaming and anger and rejection and waking up bathing in sweat. Now, Arthur's silence is putting him off guard, and it's worse because it's not like Arthur to be silent. So grimly silent.

No questions. No '_Where did you learn magic?' _and_ 'How long?' _or _'Why?' _and not even a gasp over his revelation about his father.

_It's shock, _he decides, trying calm himself down. Not to breathe too quickly or panic. It will not do any good to start panicking or struggling. He doesn't want to use magic or violence to flee, because if he does, Arthur is never going to look at him again with anything other than loathing. Merlin can't bear the thought of Arthur hating him. It makes him ill. Uncertain. Kilgharrah's words burns in his mind._ 'One side of the same coin.' Then he's got to trust me with my secret. One day._

_He's probably wondering what to do with me. _

Merlin is unsure if he's feeling regret.

They leave Morgana unconscious on the floor and Arthur sends a guard down to fetch her – but is unsure what she really is, friend of foe - what she's doing down there. She's left behind to awaken on her own.

**

* * *

**

XX.

Merlin's knees gives away when they pass the first torch. Arthur regains his voice and curses at him and he just listens and sits down, head in his hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," comes rushing out, over and over again.

Suddenly Arthur grabs his shoulders and forces him to look up. "Where did you learn it, Merlin?"

It takes a moment to understand.

"I was born like this. With magic. I can't ... can't help it, just control it, Arthur. I'm sorry. I didn't learn it." He's seeing two princes now, constantly trembling, and it can't be good. "…I think I'm feeling sick."

"What am I going to do with you?" Arthur slams his fists into the stone wall, no caring about how it hurts; he's so perturbed he can't really think.

"Put me in the stocks - again?" The attempted mirth floats away like nothing.

He really wants to sleep, but he doesn't, and he doesn't throw up, just rests his head against the wall and tries not think too much. It hurts. He's betrayed Arthur and is going to pay for it.

_Damn it, I trusted you, Merlin. Why, why, why didn't you tell me? _says the look on Arthur's face.

The prince hauls him back to his feet and drags him the rest of the way, into the night-air. There are shouts and people ahead and Merlin's head spins and he can't get any contact with Arthur or Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah's gone. Must've left as soon as possible. Outside there are still fires alight, wailing to the sky, but no enemies least they're dead, so Cenred's army must have fled. At least he's managed to do something good before being caught. The thought pains a wry grin on Merlin's lips.

They stumble over a pile of bones, before entering the courtyard.

"Sire!" A knight or a guard or some citizen. Can't determine. Merlin blinks. Arthur's gloved hand is bruising his arm. "The soldiers are retreating, sire!"

He can't hear the rest of the conversation, if there was any; his mind is too foggy and full of pain. Words flows past his ears, there's a mention of _catacombs_ and _dungeons_ and_ Morgana_. He stumbles. Arthur still holds him, almost protectively, but it's a strong grip which makes the throbbing pain worse. He can't fall to the ground when Arthur's holding him that way, even if he really, really wants to. Just close his eyes. Forget everything. Then, if he ever regains some energy, take the blame and burn, hoping Arthur would still be able to become a great king, without anyone guarding his back.

There's a faint cry in his ear before his mind falls into abyss.

_"Merlin!"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Trust  
**_a Merlin fanfiction_  
_by Elfling_

_Disclaimer__: 'Merlin' is property of BBC and I make no claims, profits or money by doing this. I've written this as a work of fan-fiction, to be read freely for entertainment. By writing this I gain nothing but the pleasure to write.  
__Author's note__: I'm not 100% about how this chapter turned out, so please give me your opinions. Concluding a story has always been a weakness of mine. I'm kind of sad to finish this so quickly!  
Note - I'm still looking for a __**beta. **__Please let me know if you feel up to it: PM me!  
__Word count__:8000_

**

* * *

**

XXI

He's never been this angry before.

Usually when he's angry, it shows in his actions and his heated words and harsh glares and the way people avoids him, because he lashes out and in general expressions his fury loudly. Now is different. He's so angry he cannot put words on it. Angry and hurt. People avoid him even more, no one looks him in the eye except for Gaius. The old man doesn't comment his churning silence or the way he looks at Merlin, in a newly discovered light – or shadow – Gaius only does his duty as the court physician. Busied with the deaths and dying from the battle.

Arthur can vaguely recall settling Merlin onto a bed – dumping him harshly onto the lumpy mattress, trying to dispose of the feeling of being tainted by betrayal. Then he watches as Gaius inspects him, declaring that he's badly hurt – as if Arthur was stupid and oblivious. There's a wound, a gash, red and irritated, blemishing Merlin's pale skin and for a moment, seeing that, with Gaius' voice repeating the word _poisoned _in his head,Arthur finds it harder to breathe. He struggles to be calm. To focus on being angry with Merlin and not himself. But he cannot help channelling part of the emotion on himself too, so he's blaming them both.

Merlin for his secret. For being such an idiot. For betraying his trust. For going out somewhere alone and getting hurt and then coming back and trying to solve things with a dragon and his goddamned stupid magic, magic, _**Merlin is a sorcerer.**_

Arthur storms out of the room. He can't face Merlin now. For a long while. He has to decide what to do and he's torn between the loyalty he has for his father, his home and the law, and the young man he's wanted to call his friend for months on en. Despite it all, he still wants to be able to trust Merlin. Have him staying by his side. Nearby so he won't get lost. The servant is lazy and useless but cheering and keeping going and _speaking up_ because he knows that neither likes the silence. He's not a bootlicker.

_Friends._

_He doesn't want to image Merlin being burned at a stake. Camelot watching. His father scowling. The sorcerer staring at him in fear._

His feet carry him to his father's chambers. The man has been dragged there, put to sleep, sweat covering his brow. If they didn't find a solution soon, Uther wouldn't last. Die of madness. Arthur cannot let that happen.

"Father?" he asks, standing in the doorway.

Uther blinks open his eyes, he must have already been awake. "Son."

"The battle is over, father. Cenred's army is fleeing," he says carefully as he sits by the bedside.

The king looks at the window. Suddenly his eyes and voice are very clear. "…I'm proud of you, my son. You have spared Camelot much misery."

Arthur's heart twinges, because he feels suddenly a strange kind of pity towards Merlin, sympathy to have achieved something he'll never get the credit for_. Sorcerer._ "Luck was on our side."

He says no word about any dragon.

Dawn is breaking outside the coloured glass.

He's already ordered Morgana to be taken into custody and he knows that his father will be so disappointed. Uther's own ward, the lady so sweet and faithful, gone behind his back, stabbing him by striking Camelot. That she's not been gone and lost but gone and planning hurts to know, but Arthur isn't stupid enough not to realize that Morgana must have done just that – planned and allied with Cenred. Morgause. Hadn't Merlin said something about Morgause?

Merlin must have been a stroke of luck on Camelot's part; a jam in Morgana's clockwork.

"_I'm proud of you."_

Uther isn't going to be much longer, Arthur fears.

**

* * *

**

XXII

She wakes up, without weapon but with dust in her hair, restrained, but her hands are free. Beyond the bars are two guards that keeps glancing at her from the corners of their eyes, hesitant or confused or afraid; she can't determine. Annoyance sparks through her. Surprise. Merlin had found her – she hadn't even paid a thought to the possibility before he suddenly stumbled into the catacombs. Ruining her and Morgause's plan. The manservant – how he'd escaped she's no idea – must have …

Then she remembers, faltering in her thoughts. Merlin's golden eyes. _Magic._ He'd used magic!

And she had stood there accusing him for not understanding, while he truly did. He had no been lying.

But he had been betraying her. At first by poisoning her…but then by helping Arthur and Uther, by choosing the wrong side in this battle. Or always. How could he do that? Help the son and king who banned all who practiced magic, his kin? How? _Why?_

At the same time, Morgana realizes that she can use this to her advantage, to get out of here. No one will listen to someone like him, a low servant, but they'll listen to her. Trust her. She, a lady, Uther's ward. This had been a setup on Merlin's part. She would convince them.

The boy knows too much, and it's clear she cannot not turn him into an ally, he was practically glued to Arthur's side; no, she has to get rid of him. The stupid boy had obviously already told the prince or someone else about her - in the tombs…the staff. The magic. Else she wouldn't be behind bars.

She has to stop him before he reveals more. Even if it means killing him, once and for all.

**

* * *

****XXIII**

The first time he wakes up, stars dances before his eyes and he regrets opening them. It hurts. Everywhere. It's hard to stay awake. Everything he has done and said has drained him, riding on Kilgarrah, fires in Camelot, dead men, Morgana, Arthur- he knows, he knows-

_Arthur!_

He jerks up, stares at the ceiling and can feel his heart beating painfully against his ribcage. Arthur knows. Arthur knows about his magic.

"Are you awake yet?" a warm, kind, familiar voice drifts over to him.

_Gaius?_

He tries to say something. Opens and closes his mouth like a fish. Not a word leaves his lips. He can't…

"Here, drink this. It'll help against the pain."

There should be scolding and that glare! It should be, but there isn't. Merlin feels so confused. Doesn't Gaius know that Arthur knows? Hasn't the stubborn prat gone around revealing it yet? Or is he keeping it secret? Is that why he's lying on a bed instead of the hay covering the floor of a dungeon cell?

The liquid running down his throat is cool and calming. There is no effect for minutes, the wound still hurts. "G-Gaius," he manages to mutter.

The old man looks down at him, relieved. "Merlin! How are you feeling? You were quite a mess when Arthur took you here."

"Awful." He tries to sit. Head swirls. Has to close his eyes. "Arthur was here?"

"Yes, and he seemed worried."

"...it's complicated, I …I can't explain. God, my head hurts."

"The remedy will set in soon, don't worry." Gaius tries to make him comfortable but Merlin is anything but, he's tense and confused, why isn't he thrown into prison? Why is Gaius still taking care of him, and where is Arthur?

"Now please explain Merlin." Gaius' voice hardens. "What on earth were you thinking when you took the dragon here?"

Ah. Oh.

The warlock looks uncomfortable as the old man's voice becomes aggravated and his gaze scrutinizes him. "Um, I…I _wasn't _thinking. All right. I just wanted to save Arthur! I heard Morgana and Morgause talking, about Uther and attacking Camelot, from within as well as on the outside, and I just had to…had to save him. I had to!"

Then he tells him everything. Sometimes he has to stop to cough or wait for the pain to subside, but he manages to tell Gaius everything from Morgana's sudden appearance, up to this moment. Including Kilgarrah. And Arthur. Revealing his secret.

Gaius might explode. "Foolish boy."

"I had to!"

"I know, my boy, I know, but you still could've been more careful." The old man puts down the remedy bottle. Merlin feels less pain now than when he woke up, which is a good sign. "I'm just worrying what will happen to you now. I'm afraid I doubt that Arthur can handle this handsomely."

"Oh really? What made you draw that conclusion?" The sharp look makes him turn to silence instead.

"You have to stay on your guard, Merlin. You might have to flee…"

"I know, I know, I get it," Merlin mutters and puts his head on his hands. Frustrated. Thinking. This wasn't exactly how he'd thought would happen when he revealed his magic. He didn't know how to tackle the situation.

Suddenly his head shots up, as he remembers something important. "Gaius! I know what's ailing the king." The words leave no room for questions or protests. "It's Morgana. She's places some enchanted … thing… under his bed. I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sure it's the source of all the things he sees and dreams. Please Gaius, you have to stop her! She's trying to break Camelot from within. You have to remove it. Please."

Gaius gets to his feet. Places a cup on the table. "Stay here, Merlin."

Like he has any choice.

**

* * *

**

XXIV

The second time he wakes up he's still alone. Where Gaius has gone he's only got a vague idea, maybe he's gone to see Arthur, or Uther, or Morgana. Merlin doesn't want to think of it – of anything. Soon the whirlwind that is The Prat would be upon him. The prince would ask him questions and he knew he had to answer. Face fate.

It wasn't what he'd expected destiny to be. Oh, he'd thought he'd die for Arthur. But not this soon. Not when he wasn't a king yet. Not like this. In this stupid way.

Gingerly he sits and finds that there is less pain than before. The room doesn't spin, even if it's cold, but it's usually cold down here so it bothers him little. For awhile he remains seated, so he won't become ill. Then he swings his feet over the bed and tries to stand. He manages but feels wobbly.

Though, he's hungry and thirsty, he needs something else on his tongue than regret. In a cupboard he finds some bread and there's a cup of tea that Gaius has brewed for him. It tastes awful, and the bread is poor and watery, but is better than nothing seeing he's not had anything for over a day, so he eats with greed.

Slightly more comfortable – but not content – he settles back onto the lumpy mattress, trying to swallow away the lump of worry in his throat and not dream, trying to sleep again. That's what he needs. Sleep. Regain some energy. It seemed like Kilgarrah's enchantment was working, his body did heal faster than usual.

_Thanks for helping me out, _he sends a dry thought to the sky, before closing his eyes.

He won't be able to rest for long.

**

* * *

**

XXV

He doesn't hear Gaius returning, speaking with someone, a soft female voice full of disbelief. Maybe he's blissfully lucky not to hear them.

"…Is it really true?" Guinevere stammers, staring at the old man and wringing her hands. "I can't believe, I mean, she was gone for so long and sure, it was odd when she came back and she's been acting a bit off but, I thought...I thought…" She cares for her mistress. Her friend. Who has suddenly grown distant and cold.

"I'm very sorry, Gwen. I know that you care much for her."

The maid sits and hides her face in her hands and wants to cry, but has trouble to. "A-and Merlin…? Prince Arthur looked so angry."

"It is true." It's why there is a guard outside the door.

She looks so shocked and scared. "I-I can't believe it. Merlin? He's so kind and well, well, he's not…" _Evil. Powerful-looking. Mad._

"I know, Gwen. Believe me when I say that he has never used his powers for anything but the good of Camelot."

"I hope so." Chewing her nail, glancing at the unconscious boy at the bed. "I won't tell anyone," she adds quickly, even if half the castle knows.

"Don't worry, girl. I'm afraid this won't stay a secret for long."

"What do you think will happen? You don't think Arthur will let the king…?" She does not finish the sentence, blushing, both afraid and ashamed for uttering these words. She's also worried for Morgana, even if the lady has turned to a different path which Guinevere isn't fond of; Morgana was her friend, at least closer to her than a mistress should be to a maid. The thought of both Merlin and Morgana facing the executor's axe is unthinkable, but lingers on her mind like clouds on a summer day.

**

* * *

**

XXVI

The third time he wakes up, it is day, sunlight falls onto the stone floor. He can smell smoke and persistent fear from outside, even if Cenred's troops sure are long gone. There are aches tingling in his bones, but his eyes are clearer. Food and water awaits him on the table, but Gaius is not to be seen.

Merlin dresses. It takes more time than usual for his mind was elsewhere, wandering from Gaius to Arthur and the king and Morgana and Gwen, he wonders what will happen today, if the king knows, if Morgana or Arthur has spoken of him yet. His magic. Does Gwen know?

He hopes she doesn't hate him. Hopes that his mother won't come rushing from Ealdor if she finds out. If she's caught because of him, because he's magical and her son… The warlock shudders, tries to push the thought away. If Hunith hears of his revelation and the dragon, he'll either be gone or dead when that happens.

_Dead._

He surprises himself with the ease he manages to accept it. He's going to die. He doesn't struggle with the fact. What use is there? Anyway, it's time Arthur learns how to clean his own socks. Let him mock out the stables for once and walk his own dogs and fetch his own meals – see how the oh high and mighty prat can handle that!

Mocking chuckles works up his throat but comes out as half-sobs. Arthur really can't take care of himself. Who is going to watch his back now? Give him the dose of anti-egoism he needs? Tell him he's a prat?

_I hope he won't get a boot-licker as servant._

He tests the door. It's locked, from the outside. Of course. Gaius or Arthur must've ordered that. Not hesitating, he reaches out with his magic and familiar words leaves his mouth, and the lock clicks. He will only go for a short while and he won't run away; he just needs to see Arthur. Apologize. that he believes that he'll be forgiven or understood. Maybe if he told her, Gwen would show compassion because she has a warm, big heart, but Arthur… no. Maybe. If he spoke with Morgana? Never. She has grown into some stranger he cannot touch.

He begins to doubt that Arthur can just let this go. He's the prince and has so much resting on his shoulders, responsibility for a hundred things. Merlin owed him an apology.

There's a guard outside the door who looks surprised and maybe, there's a spark of fear because Merlin has just dropped evidence right in front of his nose. He has to get past him. Eyes glint golden. The spear flies from the guard's hands and slams into a wall far down the corridor. It takes a moment for the guard to react and by that time Merlin is already running, running, out of sight. He uses passageways that are thin and winding, usually only occupied by servants but now townspeople also have taken refuge here. Some are sleeping on the stone, upon their belongings, shaken and ashen from the battle.

He runs past them without a second glance.

A voice shouts "Halt!" behind him. There is a spear and a livid man hot on his heels.

He can find Arthur's chamber when blindfolded, no matter which way he takes. The chamber has no guards but there are shadows on the walls, and the door is locked; the warlock opens it and runs inside, slamming into a half-dressed prince who reacts a second later with a sword against Merlin's neck. Only then he falters, recognizing him.

The room is an utter mess but Merlin has no time to comment the prince's lack of tidiness.

"_What are you doing here_? Damn it Merlin- that guard was for your own safety you know!"

"I need to apologize."

Arthur narrows his eyes.

"That I didn't tell you earlier...about my magic. But I couldn't make you choose between me and your father, your kingdom, the law. I planned to tell you, I swear-"

"You _planned_ to? That's it? You've been bloody _planning to_ for the last two years?"

Merlin doesn't back down or look at the floor. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't know how to. I thought you'd have me arrested. Well I _know_ you're going to turn me in, but that's beside the point. I just needed to tell you I'm sorry."

"No more lies, Merlin. Have you ever used magic against my father or Camelot?"

The boy frantically shakes his head. "All I've done is to protect you."

The prince is unsure what to do and who to trust and whether he ought to open the door against which it seems someone is slamming a large fist. "I need a servant I can trust, Merlin. I did trust you. A lot. Then you come, and—and- Couldn't you spit it out to begin with? Trusting that I would protect you from my father's wrath? Why do you have to complicate things so much?" He gnaws his teeth. "Don't say 'natural talent' or I'll..."

"You can trust me!" the warlock cries, igniting Arthur's temper.

"You're a sorcerer."

Merlin's eyes are uncharacteristically cold. Something in them is new and alien to Arthur, something dangerous and terrifying, but he cannot really identify what it is. The boy opens his mouth like wanting, desperately needing, to lash out or scream or speak or whatever, but wavers, and then sets his jaw and keeps staring at him. "Maybe the dragon was wrong, you're probably not the right Arthur. There has to be another one, who's going to make a great king," mutters the warlock. Quietly.

The heavy banging on the door is frantic. "Sire! Sire!"

Then the door slams open. There are three guards, with swords and spears pointed at Merlin, who still looks stern but hurt, crestfallen, alone.

The men wait for orders, for some indication. Arthur stares back at Merlin, shocked at seeing him so calm, without struggling. Arguing. He's gone silent now.

Arthur sighs. Defeated. Shoulders heavy and slumped by so many burdens and decisions. He cannot turn a blind eye, now it's too late. Because while the boy slept, Gaius cured the king, only vaguely telling how he knew how Uther's mind was being poisoned – and the king had quickly begun to recover, no lies could work this time. It didn't take long before word reached him. About magic and dragons and his ward in the dungeons. _Uther knows._

"Arrest him."

_You're probably not the right Arthur._

The prince is unsure what it means.

Merlin doesn't struggle as the armoured men grab him firmly by the arms and drags him away. Arthur gets hit by a strong urge to stop them, but finds no voice. Why should he, after all? He's just turned Merlin in once and for all and there's no turning back now, it's too late. Maybe he should have smuggled Merlin out during the battle or something. Hidden him from the world.

_A great king._

_Traitor._

And he can imagine that goofy familiar voice:

"_Prat."_

**

* * *

**

XXVII

Arthur keeps pacing. The cell is small, dirty and confined, five paces across, he almost bumps into the wall. The warlock keeps watching his every move, the tense posture of his shoulders.

"Merlin…god, Merlin. What am I going to do?"

Silence.

"You are a complete buffoon, you know. What if someone else had found out first? A knight, a guard? My father? They'd kill you on the spot. I've been kind enough to let Gaius heal you. Morgana, she knows, you know. She told my father. Tried to bribe her way out. Unfortunaly for her I was there in time to stop her from doing anything … stupid."

_I had to seize you, __had to._

Hesitatingly Merlin opens his mouth but when he speaks, he is resolute. Strong. He will face his fate.

"I'm sorry I lied, Arthur. Whatever you decide to do with me, I understand, I don't blame you for turning me in. It's the law. But I swear, Arthur, I swear I have only used magic to help you. Save you. I never told you because I … Well I tried, but then there was so much in the way. I tried to. But…it's so complicated. And I didn't want to add yet another burned on your shoulders. I've never harmed Camelot…Not intentionally." The last few words are followed by a dry chuckle and Merlin's eyes are hardened with bitter sarcasm, as he mutters, "I didn't realize what the consequences would be when I released the dragon! I thought he'd leave, leave and never come back!"

"So it was you."

"Yes."

"Why?"

The warlock sighs. "I made a promise. The dragon, he…we made a deal. He helped me…helped me over and over. In turn I had to free him. I swore it. He kept repeating it, kept telling me and it sort of always gnawed at my conscience… so I let him free. …Arthur-"

"Don't." There is still much he has to wrap his head around, he still blames Merlin for not telling him earlier, trusting him, but he also understands why Merlin kept his ability – gift? – a secret. _Just how powerful are you, Merlin? _A sorcerer right under the king's nose.

Arthur wonders if the idiot has a death wish.

"Please don't apologize or explain more. Not about that." Merlin looks at him oddly, probably because he's so rarely, if ever, used the word _please _before. And it's stupid to say that word in a situation like this. "Just tell me, why did you come here? Why didn't you stay in Ealdor or go someplace far, faraway? Like with the druids?"

Merlin snorts, like reading his mind: _Why did I come to the one place magic is most hated and feared? _"My mother sent me. I was becoming feeling lost in Ealdor, was so alone and didn't know what to do with my gift. Mother told me to find Gaius, he'd help me. Look after me, you know."

"Well I can see why it's needed," the prince mutters quietly and there's a humour, sarcastic maybe, but yet a humour, coming back, easing the tension and breaking the cold.

Not minding the interruption, the boy goes on: "I came to find a purpose. And I did. It was the dragon, you know, he told me that I was destined to protect you. Save your royal backside from getting into trouble. It said that we're two sides of the same coin."

Arthur stares at him and thinks, weighting every option in his hands. Not too heavy or too light. A plan is what he needs, a solution, because he can't watch the boy die because Merlin, stupid, clumsy, kind-hearted _Merlin,_ could never have harmed Camelot, the prince, anyone innocent, not even his father the king despite Uther's ban against magic. Merlin has even _saved Uther's life_, for heaven's sake.

Is exile an option? He ponders. Maybe. It will spare Merlin's life and his own place by Uther's side, as a loyal son, but it will feel so empty without the awkward manservant nearby, his wit and laugh and goofy smiles, always saying or doing the wrong thing. Loyal. The word tastes bitter.

"…What will you do with me?" Merlin asks softly.

Arthur looks away.

He can't just put him in the stocks and be done with it. He can, of course, try to cover up from Merlin, claim that the mysterious person riding the dragon was gone or dead. But there was Morgana … Arthur has tried to tell his father, but Uther is still in denial. Not his sweet, kind ward.

He has to remind himself of the truth. "I don't know. It's…the king's decision."

"Oh. … I understand."

The boy shouldn't need to understand. Arthur wants to let him go. Maybe even hug him and say good luck and tell him to run. He doesn't want Merlin to die.

Arthur moves to stand, sending him a last glance. The cell looks cold and he wants to at least throw him an extra blanket, but there is none to be had and he can't ask for one, the guards will find it odd. Speaking of guards, he cannot stay much longer or he will be confined to his chambers, he's not really allowed to face any prisoners.

"I have to see my father." _Maybe talk some sense into him._

"Yeah, yeah. Of course."

He turns but looks back, one final question on his mind. Needing confirmation. "Is…was Balinor your real father?"

A small, sad nod. "Gaius told me just before…before he went to find him," the boy whispers. "I didn't know. My mother never spoke of it. Gaius told me not to tell you, understandable, I mean, why would you trust the son of a dragonlord? You probably wouldn't have believed me even if I told you. I really wanted to, Arthur, but I … couldn't. I couldn't let anyone know."

_Dragonlord_, echoes through Arthur's head.

"I'm sorry you lost him," he murmurs.

Merlin looks so tiny and alone when the prince walks away, like an abandoned child, and it takes much resolve for Arthur to look away from his huddled form.

_You probably wouldn't __have believed me even if I told you._

**

* * *

**

XXV**III**

How can he just stand there?

Just stand there and accept it all. No denial, no protests, he just stands there accepting his fate. Hands clasped. Eyes fixed somewhere between the floor and the wall.

Morgana is the opposite. She denies and claims she's being used, Morgause poisoned her mind, but she's beginning to see clearly now. She is Uther's ward, and still dear to him like a puppet, Arthur can see that in his father's stony face. His eyes express his weakness. He doesn't want any harm to touch his ward, and this revelation in shocking, he cannot accept it at all. He looks like he's been caught in a storm, wrecked, desperately trying to cling to a piece of driftwood. He truly, truly wants to believe her, that she has not used magic, that it's all Merlin's fault. Merlin's set-up. Besides, the boy had _poisoned_ the king's ward right under their noses. For some reason, the revelation leaving Morgana's lips doesn't shock Arthur as much as it should have.

Arthur speaks up in Merlin's defence. Choosing his words carefully, of course, but he has to protect Merlin. The prince wants to trust the warlock, his words that he saw Morgana and Morgause in the forest. He really wants to.

Uther looks past that. Blaming Merlin: because he's a sorcerer and called for the dragon and poisoned Morgana – and he doesn't deny it. It'd not be a surprise to the king if the boy-turned-sorcerer had kidnapped his ward and dragged her down to the catacombs.

The usually loud manservant is so quiet. Uncomplaining. Even as Uther judges him and condemns him to death, even if he's come with the dragon to save Camelot, even as Morgana is pardoned - Uther cannot loose her, not now when she's just reappeared in his life.

Not even when she's poisoned Uther mind, made him mad, and only Merlin telling Gaius what it was had saved him.

Merlin just bends his neck and accepts it all.

Arthur clenches and unclenches his fists. Wanting to jump in and shout "_Stop! No!"_ as Merlin is dragged away, back to prison. Without protests. Without using magic to free himself – when he can! He can do that. Flee. Arthur has no doubt.

So why doesn't he?

* * *

**XXIX**

Merlin smiles at him. A sad kind of smile; like he's trying to apologize and at the same time cheer them up. It's not working.

It has been tricky for Arthur to come back down. He's got guards all around him - his father wants him to stay away from Merlin, from the execution, from everything but his confined cluttered chambers. Arthur had, of course, found some way to sneak out of their gazes for a while but soon enough he'll be discovered. He has to go soon, and he doesn't know if he can come back to the cell before … before.

"You can't do anything now, Arthur. You don't have to. I understand. Uther's the king."

It's like he's forgotten their argument, just a few hours earlier right on this spot.

"It's not right," the prince mutters. Unfair. Merlin hasn't used his powers for evil. "Can't you use your skills to escape?"

"Maybe."

He's so damn vague and _accepting_ that it tears at Arthur's heart. "Then do it!"

"Why do you even care? I betrayed you." The smile disappears and Merlin's lips tighten into a thin line. Eyes shining - maybe with tears. "I betrayed you, Arthur."

Something inside Arthur cracks and burst. "I can't watch you_ die!"_

_Not Merlin. Not his stupid clumsy manservant Merlin sorcerer dragonlord magical warlock friend, friend, friend._

The warlock wants to hug him or pat his back or anything physical to calm him, but the chains and the bars are in the way. He tries to smile again, but fails, he's broken too and he's not keen to die, leaving Arthur so miserable. "Please Arthur, you can't do anything, if you try, Uther can punish you. He's your father and the king, you need his loyalty, I'm just a servant. You have to see some sense, stupid_ clotpole_!"

He's already confronted his father. Shouted in anger, disappointment, gone down to near begging on his knees, because - isn't it obvious that Merlin has never harmed Camelot? He's saved his life! Yet Uther will not have any of it. He cannot pardon the young warlock simply because his son has taken a liking to him. He cannot. He won't listen to any of Arthur's words.

Now Arthur looks at the gangly boy and leans forward like he's able to walk through the bars. "You're so much more than just a servant to me," he whispers.

They can't acknowledge it, not really, because Arthur is a prince and Merlin a servant. It's always been this way. They're not allowed to care for each other. Friends. Maybe more. Arthur has sometimes pondered if he and Merlin could've been accepted something closer than master and servant, but now the idea is impossible.

Merlin looks away, but answers anyway. "But thank you for trying anyway, Arthur."

"Trying isn't good enough," the prince growls and wants to slam something heavy and hard against the wall.

"Look, it's better just to … I don't know, leave it be. Frankly I don't look forward to dying, but if you stand up against your father, you'll be in trouble. Trying to get out now will probably make things worse."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Want to prove that theory?"

Startled Merlin looks up. He knows what Arthur is thinking by the look in his eyes and there is _no way_- "You can't be serious!" he splutters. "I can't do that, I-"

"Yes you can," the prince says calmly. "Yes. I'm not going to see you die. And for god's sake, Merlin, you're a _warlock_! You can do magic!"

"I'm well aware of that fact." Sarcasm is put aside after that. "So you want me to …"

"Yes." He's so confident and calm and Merlin can't help grinning, feeling something in his fingers tingle, making his chest lighter. Maybe it's hope, his faith in Arthur.

"You really are a prat, know that?"

_Like a kind of goodbye.__ A memory._

"I hate to admit this," Arthur adds quietly, "but I'm going to miss your loutish ways, Merlin."

**

* * *

****XX****X**

There's usual tense silence settling over the castle as the day turns into twilight. Gossip flows everywhere. A handful of names circulate everyone's palm, as people works to put out fires and clear away debris and rebuild their trashed homes. Dust just has settled since the battle, but the word_ sorcerer_ has made everyone alert. People dreams of dragons as they go to sleep, and they're afraid that it will return, once and for all destroying the city.

Merlin sits staring at the wall and thinking about Arthur's words, realizing that despite the man being such a prat he's really a good man - he's going to become a good king – he _is_ trustable, one man worth his loyalty. Merlin should have told him long ago about his secret. Now was too late. Or maybe too early. He cannot be sure, and anyway, it's too late now for second thoughts.

Arthur wants him to live. The thought warms his heart. Arthur _cares_. Even if he's a prat, loyal to his father, loyal to Camelot, wanting to be loyal to Merlin too. Perhaps that's what drives the warlock on, what makes him try to think of a solution. The prince's words still ring clearly through his head.

It's not wise. It's stupid and rash. But he can make it happen, rightly so, without harming anyone unless it's truly necessary.

He doesn't want to leave Arthur. He's not keen to die either because he's always imagine he'd die in some half-heroic, half-clumsy way while saving Arthur, and using magic to save Arthur, letting him know and having his trust and love, before breathing his last breath and hearing the prince hold him and tell him "_Don't give up, damn it, Merlin, and you're not going to die on me, you're not going to die on me!" _or maybe_ "You idiot, Merlin!"_

An unexpected hot sob works up his throat and he can't stop it. Tears fill his eyes. How can he turn his back on Arthur like this? The prat can't take care of himself, he can't even _dress himself _or walk his own dogs or find his own socks or even make his own bed, god, no one should let him near a kitchen – and who's going to protect him? Whenever will there not be a threatening witch or wizard wanting to kill Uther and Arthur alike, or some magical stone that takes over its owner mind or enchanted sword or _whatever _– whenever won't there be something that Arthur'll need his protection from?

Sure, there are other servants. Lots of them, even. Ready and willing to cast themselves at Arthur's feet to lick his boots. And there are knights, soldiers more than willing to keep Arthur safe, fight for him. Like sir Leon and sir Kay, they're both trustable. Half-heartedly, Merlin wish even Lancelot was here, that man is one of the best fighters he knows, apart from the prince himself – Lancelot is strong and honourable. He'd protect Arthur. Even if he's a prat. Right?

Merlin thinks he can spot the moon through the tiny window.

He wonders what Arthur is doing right now. And Gaius, his mentor, uncle, he must be angry and worried. And Gwen, she must be anxious and saddened, for him - and Morgana too. He knows they used to be close – friends, friends like him and Arthur.

**

* * *

****XXXI**

Sunlight lands on his lap and Merlin sighs, breathes in, out, in – he's afraid, but strangely relaxed. He hasn't slept one bit through the night but feel awake as if he's got candles tingling in his bones and he could jump to the sky. It's definitely not euphoria, but not quite like pumping adrenaline either. It's more like the feeling rushing through your blood when you know that something terrible is going to happen, and it's your own fault, and what you plan on doing to prevent it will probably make the situation worse – if that makes any sense.

He can sense the guards coming before he hears or sees them. Every inch of his senses are alert, he can see and hear more than ever before, the guards' spears glints dangerously. As he's taken up into the airy courtyard now filled with people, he doesn't meet anyone's eyes but he knows Gaius is watching with Gwen beside him, he knows how she's biting her lip and how some knights he's slowly gotten to know through Arthur's training watches in displeasure, maybe shock, they cannot believe that he, Merlin, the clumsy kind-hearted Merlin, is a sorcerer.

And he knows where Uther is and how the old man scowls in that stern way with wrinkles around his eyes. Behind the king, a little on the left, is Morgana, tall and quiet. Proud and lady-like, properly submissive at the moment, but her fists are clenched like she would rather run Uther through with a sword on the spot. She regards the prisoner with piercing eyes, but the warlock doesn't look at her face. He doesn't want to see it.

Merlin knows that Arthur isn't here. He wonders where he is and worries that he's hurt even if it's improbable. At the same time, the prince's absence makes it a little easier to breathe. Arthur shouldn't see this.

Merlin has never been very good at waiting and usually his patience wears rather thin, but now he's willing to wait forever until the executor and his axe arrive; he could handle standing here, tied and quiet and waiting, for hours or days. He can't have too much hope up.

Last time he called for aid, it'd taken several hours to get a response, and this time he's been quieter and more subtle. He's done it in the middle of dark night, just to be sure to be heard, even if Kilgarrah probably won't come quickly enough. He could be on the other side of the world right now.

There is doubt and fear in people's eyes as he sweeps his gaze over them in a last attempt to see Arthur even if the man isn't there. Merlin shivers. He doesn't want to be feared. Looked at with disdain. Why couldn't they just understand? He was born like this. _This is who I am!_ he wants to shout at the king. _All I've done is for Arthur!_

It's better to put an end to all thoughts.

As the king speaks to his people, Merlin longingly gazes at Arthur's window and could swear he sees a distraught, familiar face. Then the window is slowly being opened. He must've been locked into his room – again. Merlin wants to grin and shout some kind of witty and humorously light goodbye, wave his hand. Arthur would kill him if he did anything stupid as that, but the prince got to have some merry memory of him, right?

Is that a glare?

"Prat."

There's a grumble against his the shell of his ear and the axe looks terrifying this up close. Up in the window, Arthur looks like breaking something. One or two people rush out from behind him and has to drag him from sight to calm him down.

And as Merlin is pushed to his knees, he's truly really afraid and he can't help how his emotions finally triggers his gift. The broad man with the axe stumbles backwards as the weapon grows heavy. Another grunt, Merlin sees how the shadow over him grows and thinks he can faintly hear Arthur shout from his chambers, through the glass of a slammed closed window.

Morgana seems pleased with herself. Merlin can feel it in the way he's looked upon, like he feels the rough fabric of his tunic itch against his skin, and he wants to scratch the sensation away.

The broad man raises the axe again and Merlin stops thinking about reason; instead he jumps to his feet, suddenly the chains dissolve into dust and he sees Morgana's disbelief. The executor falls from the platform like a rag doll, but he's not dead, Merlin can't bring himself to kill the man even if he's taken maybe hundreds of innocent lives.

The air trembles.

He flashes a look at the sky and then his gaze flitters between the crowd and Uther's wide eyes and Arthur's window.

"Arrest him!" cries the king.

Merlin does not think. He reacts. A wall of fire rise up between him and the guards and then between him and the people. It licks dangerously at the ground but there's no soot and people runs in panic, screaming, shocked at his raised hand and muttered words and golden eyes. The fire never harms them, he could never have harmed innocents like that, but the people and the king doesn't know.

Merlin's eyes gleams as he looks at the sky. There is _something_ there, and it's quickly moving closer. A giant bird or, the crowd fears, something worse. Merlin's heart leaps. He flashes a wave at Arthur's window, but there's no _I told you so-_look glaring back at him.

A large square of the courtyard has been cleared of people, it's just him standing there calmly waiting. Guards and knights raise their swords. Merlin doesn't want to harm them, but has to if they come too close. A simple spell and they loose their footing, swords are thrown out of their hands. Gwen looks terrified, but Gaius is rather calm, as he knows all about Merlin's powers. The old man despairs too because now Merlin will never, ever have a chance of denying his powers. Gift. Curse. Whatever to call it. Not that anyone of the townsfolk would dare call it a gift.

It's a mess and the king watches, frozen in shock.

Arthur is leaning out of his window looking like he wants to jump down to the warlock and smack his head.

Morgana leans back almost pressed against the wall, not knowing what to do, how to act. She can't use magic or rush in, only watch – it'd be too obvious, to reveal herself. Uther would never let her go unpunished. So she has to stay put and tense.

It's not a bird – it's Kilgarrah approaching. There is still lot of screaming, as the beast sweeps low over their heads. An arrow bounces off the scales. Even the knights look frightened, you can't see it in their faces, but it was visible in their tense poses; someone's spear is unsteady. Merlin breaks out of the chaos.

"Looks like you got to learn to clean your own boots, Arthur!" he shouts towards prince's window and hopes that he's heard. Kilgarrah's claws wrap around his waist and the ground disappears from beneath his feet.

Then he's gone.

As everyone tries to catch their breath, the courtyard covered with soot and a rising mat of murmurs, Arthur thinks he can hear Merlin's voice promising: _"I'll be back someday" - _and he's hit square in the chest by a stabbing longing, a kind he's never felt before.

***M*E*R*L*I*N***

_Thank you _**AsterianWishes, LifetimePasserby, Sandy11-1991, birdy, Yukka Sam, ruby890, MarsMonster, Imperial Mint, Emachinescat, TheRandomOneStaringAtYou** **and SwirlyTwirly**_ for reviewing (chapter 1 and 2), and thank you all other readers, and those who've added this story to their favourites/alerts - or do in the future. Everyone with signed reviews should receive a reply through PM. If you haven't, please remind me,_


	4. Preview: Sequel

_Author's notes: __This story is finished so this is not a chapter on its own. It's a preview (and I've never written one of those before) of the story I'm working on, the sequel to Trust. The first chapter will be published shortly, keep two eyes up! (Warning: Tardiness is to be expected. The plot is trying to strangle me.)_

* * *

_It's amazing that he's kept alive for this long. _

It's almost funny, really, in some bitter kind of way. Destiny has kept tossing him around. Maybe he's still reeling in its grip. Alone, alone, cannot choose which direction to go. A hundred pathways – coming back to a single crossroad.

The pleading command, "Go, boy," is gentle like he understands**, **and a shadow flees from the fires, with angry voices burning on his back.

"I cannot trust her anymore…I don't know if I can trust anybody anymore." She's is a sorceress, a dangerous beautiful thing and he's sure of only one thing: Trust is hard to place in anybody's hands and he can't place it in hers. It hurts: they're like sister and brother, sister, family… "Father, what do you mean? Father?" It's fate making a revision in its notes. Cold shivers creeping down his back, spine, cold, cold destiny. "… they all tell lies."

Ice in her hands and a knife in his – Did time stop or was it just an illusion? – It's feels like a dream, frighteningly vivid and Arthur scrambles to wake up. Everything is wrong, people shout and the prince stands there blank like a stone statue -"Arthur! Do something damn it! What's wrong with you, supercilious clotpole?" Where is his reaction? Where is it? Where is it?... He wishes he has some kind of mirror to look through, to get a glimpse, just to be sure that Arthur's safe. Anything. A vision. A dream.

-Someone has to die. The king must die, the prince must die, the sorceress and her puppet must die or-

A prince, his knights, a warlock. Who would you choose? Voices carried down a hill: all of them pawns in their own games.

"…Who are you, Merlin? Who are you?" Clear as water, her screams, pained in the nights – Everything's so wrong so wrong so wrong and nobody understands, as the world rages, crumbles madly and glass breaks at his feet but do not flinch.

Lies, all of them, lies.

He really is foolish, going back - his heart singing Arthur Arthur Arthur—but he knows, the lady knows and the knight knows: "You'll be a great king and you know it. One day, you will be ready."

-or Emrys must die (always protecting the stupid prat and Arthur will cry, heartfelt tears he's never known to have, the '"Don't dare die on me you idiot!" but Merlin does anyway'-kind of tears) and maybe, maybe there'll be a happy ending.

**Long live the king**

[MERLIN will return]


End file.
